


I'm A Professional Cynic (But My Heart's Not In It)

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Blow Job, M/M, bareback, pornstars AU, single-camera style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Pornstar AU] 'An Intimate Evening With...' the survey had been named, with the promise that the two with the most votes would film themselves fucking, amateur style, with nobody else around. Chris had known they were going to win before it was even open to submissions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm A Professional Cynic (But My Heart's Not In It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebookhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/gifts).



> Inspired by [this great prompt](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/post/122072106224/thorki-au-want-i-have-a-mighty-need-and-a) by [incredifishface](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/). I decided to go with a slightly modified Hiddlesworth version rather than Thorki since I suspected (hoped) that she'd write the Thorki version.
> 
> My wonderful pals [umakoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo) and [sheilatakesabow](http://sheilatakesabow.tumblr.com/) read over this for me. <3

The camera switches on with a buzz and a click, the lens adjusting with a sharp hum. Chris leans back to look at it, waiting for it to focus on Tom across the kitchen.

"Oh, you're just going to start right away?" he laughs, looking up to watch properly as Tom opens a bottle of red and begins to pour it into a single glass.

Tom shrugs. "Why not?"

They're strangers, practically, and there's an awkwardness in the air that they're both trying to ignore. Chris feels conscious of his place, though he'd tried to tidy up the whole house as best he could once he knew for sure Tom would be coming over.

He makes sure to capture on camera how Tom tips his wine back; his long throat, pale where the sun rarely hits it, bobbing as he swallows.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, noting the way Tom spins the now-empty glass slowly between his finger and thumb.

Tom laughs, glances down at the camera. "Fuck off."

He’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn't like Chris, or at least that he doesn't want to fuck him, yet here they are.

'An Intimate Evening With...' the survey had been named, with the promise that the two with the most votes would film themselves fucking, amateur style, with nobody else around. A special Christmas thing for the members of the site. Chris had known they were going to win before it was even open to submissions.

"More wine?" he asks, finally putting the camera down on the counter and checking one more time that the view is right before moving to stand a few feet away from Tom. It’s weirdly intimidating, in a way that no other scene has been for Chris in a long time, and as much as he tries to tell himself that it’s the lack of cameras and a director, he knows that it’s all Tom.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Tom clucks his tongue, levelling Chris with a look that speaks of absolute confidence in his sexual presence. He smells good, looks better up close than he has any right to, and just the promise of getting to touch him has Chris already starting to get hard.

He tries to laugh off the question, lifting the bottle. "Do I need to?"

Rolling his eyes Tom slides his glass forwards again, affecting a bored expression. He tells Chris when to stop pouring with a raised palm, and this time instead of gulping it down he only takes a small sip.

"Place isn't bad," he says conversationally, not exactly a compliment. Chris looks around too, shrugging. He bought the place for the view, he doesn't much care for decor. It's dark out now, but in the daylight the whole city is visible from his balcony. He thinks for a second that he'll show Tom in the morning, before he remembers that Tom probably won't stay.

He grabs a glass for himself from the cupboard and pours a small amount, swishing it in his glass as he puts the bottle to one side. He’s not really a wine drinker but he’d heard that Tom was, so he’d bought a fairly expensive bottle.

"Do you ever do this?" Tom asks, nodding towards the camera in its little corner.

They're the most popular guys on the site so Chris knows that he's not referring to professional exploits but, rather, personal ones. He shakes his head. "Nah, tried it once but I kept worrying about the angles and forgot to enjoy myself."

Tom laughs, and offers perhaps the most genuine smile Chris has seen all night.

"When I like someone I want to just be in the moment, you know?"

Nodding, Tom takes another sip. His bottom lip is a little purple with it, and Chris steps forward slowly, taking hold of the back of his neck. Tom resists at first, fights the hold, but when Chris leans in to lick at his bottom lip he lets it happen, lets himself be kissed.

He tastes sweet and bitter like the wine; Chris smiles to himself and wonders if anyone's taste has ever matched their personality so well. When Tom feels the smile he pulls back.

"Forward, aren't you?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Chris lifts his glass and heads back for the camera. "Shall we move this into the living room?"

Tom heads through without argument, taking his wine with him. Chris tries to ignore that he’s sizing the place up as he moves, instead focusing the camera on Tom’s arse. He’s dressed nicely, in neat black jeans and a light blue t-shirt beneath a well-fitting leather jacket, and Chris feels a little like a slob in his loose jeans and v-neck.

They'd agreed that they wouldn't fuck in anyone's bed, largely because neither of them wanted their most personal space to be seen by the viewers but also, Chris suspects, because Tom intends to keep this 'intimate evening' as casual as possible.

As they walk through into the living room Chris makes a point of aiming the camera at his Christmas tree in the corner, glittering with rich blue decorations and white lights. "There you go, guys and girls. Merry Christmas."

Tom snorts and drops himself onto the sofa. He watches as Chris rests the camera on the tripod that came with it, special delivery that morning from the studio.

"How do I look?" he smiles when Chris dips to check the view, spreading out as best as he can without spilling what's left of his wine.

Chris nods, says, "You look great. Take your jacket off."

Moving slowly, Tom leans forward to place his glass on the floor, but instead of doing as he's been told he leans back into the cushions and let's his knees fall apart. "You take my jacket off."

The clear intent behind the words kicks Chris’ heartrate up a notch and he stands to full height, rubbing his clammy palms on the thighs of his jeans. "So we're doing this?"

He's still not sure this is real. They'd gained popularity with viewers around the same time and the studio had tried to pair them up early on. Chris had watched some of Tom's videos and given an enthusiastic yes, excited at the prospect of sharing a scene with him, only to hear back that Tom had declined. No explanation given, because the studio took a firm no as a no, and Chris had been left feeling a little wounded by the whole thing.

They'd met only once in person, and at that time Tom had greeted him without even really looking at him, leaving Chris with the impression that he was a stuck-up dickhead.

When the survey idea had been batted around he'd said it was a bad move, pointing out that they would likely win and Tom would likely say no again, but they'd only waved him off, telling him that Tom had agreed to fuck whoever the viewers wanted him to fuck if he should be named in the final pair.

And then they'd won, of course, and that evening when he'd answered the phone Tom's unmistakable voice had filtered across the line, all business. "So, your place or mine?"

It's surreal now to have him on the sofa and apparently willing, batting long lashes and casually displaying himself.

Tom shrugs. "What else am I here for? Your conversational skills?"

He's grinning and his eyes are bright so Chris decides to let the insult go. He feels out of sorts in his own living room and Tom seems to know it because he reaches out to slowly pat the seat beside him.

Chris goes, all-too-aware of the red light from the camera. He's still got his wine and he drains the glass before turning back to Tom, who's watching him with intent.

"You're quite attractive, you know that?" he says with an odd tone. Chris can't tell if he's being funny. When Tom leans forward to run his fingers through his short hair, Chris dutifully tips his chin down. Tom hums. "Want to suck my cock?"

The thought alone makes Chris' stomach flip with excitement. "Forward, aren't you?"

Tom's answering laugh has him tipping his head back a little, just enough that there's nothing he can do about it when Chris crawls over him and into his space. He lets out a surprised little breath even as he pulls Chris in.

The angle is off, with Tom's feet still on the floor, but they make it work; tentative, slow kisses with seeking tongues. Chris had expected it to be more like a battle, but Tom's palm is slotted beneath his jaw to hold him in place while the fingertips of his other hand scratch lightly along his scalp. Chris is hard from just the kiss, a feat that hasn't been achieved by anyone since he started fucking for work.

When Tom shoves him away again it's only to toe off his shoes and pull his feet up, bending one knee to lodge his foot on the other side of Chris' hip. A little breathless, Chris moves over him again, pulling him by the hips until he's lying beneath him. Tom's warm palm slides back around the nape of his neck and they make eye contact, heated and lengthy.

"Take off your shirt," Tom breathes, already slipping his other hand down to lift the material, purposefully letting his fingertips catch on the shape of Chris' abs. Chris tenses, just so Tom can feel the definition, and then sits back on his heels to whip the shirt over his head properly. He works hard on his body and he's not disappointed by Tom's reaction; the hungry, impatient clench of his jaw as he takes it in, sitting up again to lean in and nuzzle at whatever skin he can reach.

He latches onto a nipple, swirling his tongue around before tugging a little with his teeth, seemingly pleased with the way it makes Chris hiss. When he pulls away his lips are slick with spit and Chris can't help taking his face in both hands and dipping his head to kiss him again.

The strong taste of wine is still present between them, tripping off Tom’s tongue, and Chris chases it. He’d expected Tom’s kiss to be neat and precise, like everything else about him, but finds instead that his kiss is greedy, all teeth and tongue. He’d be content to kiss all night, but almost immediately Tom's fingers drop to begin working open Chris' jeans, thumb tracing the light trail of hair beneath his navel as he unhooks the button and slowly works the zipper down. Chris feels himself tremble. It's not fair, how effortlessly Tom's touches are driving him crazy, and though he knows it shouldn't be a competition he's determined to have Tom as shaken as he is.

Reaching down he takes hold of Tom by the wrists, feels the bone beneath his fingers as he squeezes and pulls Tom's hands away just as fingertips tickle at the sensitive skin beneath his waistband. Tom gasps at the touch, pulling away with a questioning look, and Chris darts forward once more to nip at his pink bottom lip before roughly shoving him to lie back.

There's a moment when it seems as if Tom is about to argue, but he snaps his mouth shut so quickly his teeth clack together when Chris reaches down to cup the shape of his cock beneath the tight black denim of his jeans.

"Fuck yes," he breathes, lifting his hips into the touch.

As he unfastens them, his thick fingers struggling just a little on the stiff denim, Chris very purposefully sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, moaning just enough for Tom's eyes to light up.

"Get rid of those," he nods to Tom's jacket and t-shirt as he finally gets the zipper down and, as Tom does as asked, Chris hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls. Nothing happens except that Tom's whole body moves an inch down the sofa and he begins to laugh beneath the t-shirt he's pulling over his head. Chris tries again, a harder yank this time, and still they don't give.

Tom laughs harder, throwing his shirt on the floor and slapping Chris' hands away.

"Jesus, how do you even get into those?" Chris asks as he sits back to watch Tom begin the intricate task of wriggling out of his jeans. It includes a fair amount of hip-thrusting and grunting, and still he manages to make it look reasonably graceful. When they're down at mid-thigh Chris is able to grab them and get them the rest of the way off with two firm yanks, followed by the tight black briefs he was wearing underneath.

Shifting backwards to kneel on the floor between Tom's now bare legs, Chris takes a moment to enjoy the excited flash in Tom’s eyes before dragging him forwards into another kiss. It's a little more violent than the last kiss, fuelled by mutual desperation perhaps, and Chris breathes out a pleased hum between them. He wasn't sure there'd be much kissing, given their history, but Tom seems as keen as him, holding him beneath the jaw again.

They kiss until they're running short of breath, when finally Tom pulls back just far away enough that his lips brush Chris' as he says, "Come on, I want your mouth."

Chris doesn't need asking again. He makes a point of licking his palm and maintaining eye contact as he reaches down to give Tom's cock a firm stroke. It takes a huge amount of effort not to grin smugly when Tom moans.

He breaks their gaze to look down, to watch as the pink head of Tom's cock disappears and reappears from the confines of his stroking fist. It's a great looking cock, long but not overly girthy, with a lovely rosy tip, slicking up nicely with precum the more Chris works at it with his hand.

Tom's patient, lets Chris stroke his fill and doesn't complain as he has a good feel of the weighty balls underneath, but he does sigh gratefully when Chris eventually tugs his foreskin back fully and dips down to kiss and lick at the crown.

Long fingers thread back into Chris' hair as Tom falls back against the cushions and spreads his knees wider, the other hand running down his own stomach to hold his cock at the base while Chris licks in swirls around the head. He glances up, makes sure that they're looking at each other as he sinks down.

Tom's eyes flutter closed, his head slowly falling back to expose his throat again. The fingers in Chris' hair tighten but he doesn't push or pull, just lets it happen.

Chris has always liked sucking cock, unabashedly, not just the feel and taste of it in his mouth but the power it gives him, the ability to render another man boneless and convulsing with pleasure. He keeps a keen eye on Tom's face, watching each subtle tick and shift of expression as he bobs his head, hoping to work out what he likes.

They're both what the business calls 'versatile', Chris knows that from the videos of Tom that he's watched. They haven't really discussed who will top tonight but, if he’s being honest with himself, he's hoping a really great blowjob will earn him enough points that Tom might let him top without too much of a fight.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” Tom hisses, opening his eyes to watch as Chris fists at the base while sucking at the tip, bobbing his head shallowly and swirling his tongue. He lets himself drool just enough to ease his strokes, enjoying the wet sound it makes and the way Tom arches up into it.

Taking hold of Tom's pale inner thigh, Chris encourages him to bend his knee until one foot is firmly planted on the sofa. Helpfully, Tom reaches down to grip his own ankle, holding himself open as Chris pulls off his cock and wets two fingers with spit. There’s a gasp of breath before Chris has even touched him, as if Tom is anticipating the fingertips at his furled entrance.

There’s a bottle of lube stashed in the gap beneath the sofa and Chris tries to be subtle as he pats around for it with his free hand, still mouthing at Tom’s cock and playing with his hole. Once he finds it he struggles one-handed to pump a generous amount of it into his palm, and when Tom hears the tell-tale sound of it he shifts, planting his foot more steadily on the leather and reaching down to hold his thigh.

“That good?” he whispers, eyeing Chris’ slick fingers.

Chris can see his hole properly now, tight and surrounded by the just the lightest dappling of hair. He strokes it again with his dry thumb, just to hear Tom whine, before circling with his slick index finger.

“You want it?” he murmurs, watching Tom’s face, and he sees the flash of fire behind his eyes at the question.

“Fuck you,” Tom breathes, tilting his pelvis further. “You know I do.”

He’s used enough lube that a single finger should slide in without much trouble but Tom is tight, tense, and Chris has to circle his hole again a few more times to get him to relax, looking up at him for approval which Tom gives with a nod. It’s easier then, though Chris goes slow, and when he pulls out again the tight muscle clings like Tom doesn’t want to let him go.

Kissing at the softness of Tom’s inner thigh comes naturally to him, he’s always been tactile about sex no matter who he’s with, and Tom doesn’t seem to mind, stroking distractedly through his hair. Chris wants to lean into the touch, feels oddly comforted by it, but then Tom is lifting his hips a little.

“More,” he says, nodding. “Give me another.”

There’s lube dripping down Chris’ wrist, he used so much of it, so it takes little effort to press a second finger in beside the first. Tom breathes out heavily through his nose like it hurts a little and Chris pauses, glancing up.

“Jesus- you have such thick fingers,” Tom says, looking up at the ceiling, but he bears down and on the next push he opens up nicely. Chris makes a point to explore a little inside, twisting his wrist palm-up so that he can bend his fingers and find Tom’s prostate. It takes a few tries, but he knows he’s hit the spot when Tom’s cock twitches and spits out a dribble of precum.

Just before he slides the third finger in he leans up again to nuzzle at Tom’s cock, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses along his length before sucking him in again. Tom’s mouth opens around a moan but it’s immediately choked away by the intrusion of Chris’ three fingers sliding inside.

He writhes with it, his hips rocking up off the leather, cock sliding further down Chris' throat. With his nose brushing neatly-trimmed pubic hair and his throat fluttering with the threat to gag, Chris tries to focus his attention on his fingers, crooking them just enough that each twisting thrust of his fingers rubs solidly against Tom's prostate. He's relentless about it, blinking away tears as he pulls off Tom's cock with a wet gasp and angles his shoulder so that he's able to use his fingers at an almost aggressive speed.

"Okay, okay," Tom grunts, arching away and reaching down to take hold of Chris' wrist. "Stop or I'll come."

He cries out when Chris pulls his wet fingers free and slaps them lightly against his sensitive hole, but he doesn't make any effort to hide himself. His hole is pink and puffy now, slick with lube, and Chris would shove his tongue in if he wasn't sure that it would finish Tom off.

Sitting back on his heels and tugging at his own cock with his slick hand, he watches as Tom slides his own fingers down between his legs to rub at himself, circling the hot, twitching muscle. He looks utterly debauched, eyes hooded and knees spread impossibly wide, and then he lifts his eyes to Chris' and slowly raises a brow.

"So, are you going to fuck me or what?"

He says it like a challenge, chin tipped up so he’s looking down his nose, and Chris takes it as such. With a gentle nod he stands, trying to keep his expression neutral so Tom can’t see how unspeakably pleased he is about getting to top. Turning to go, he jumps a little as Tom tugs him back around by his belt, making quick work of it with deft fingers. The zipper is already down and, unlike Tom’s jeans, the jeans drop to mid-thigh with an easy yank.

Chris steps out of them, using Tom’s shoulder for balance, kicking them away somewhere behind him. He stands in place, trying to control his breathing as Tom leans forward to mouth at the ‘v’ of his hip, long-fingered hands reaching around to grasp greedily at his arse. There’s a wet spot forming where the head of his cock strains against his underwear but Tom ignores it, digging his fingers into Chris’ buttocks.

Rocking onto the balls of his feet enables him to press his crotch forward in a way that he thinks is fairly subtle, but Tom flicks his gaze up right away and a smug smile forms on his mouth. Chris jumps as his arse is soundly slapped, and then Tom is shoving him away.

Dazed, Chris stands on the spot for a moment as Tom puts a knee up onto the sofa and turns away. Bending to shove his underwear down, Chris kicks them off too, watching as Tom positions himself so that he's kneeling on the sofa with his chest resting across the back and his arse facing the camera.

Chris has to head back over towards the camera to get the condoms and he's hyper-aware of his hard cock bouncing heavily as he walks. He palms himself, reaching out for the box of condoms and holding it in view of the camera as he pulls free an entire strip.

When he turns back, he finds Tom watching him over his shoulder with a smile, shaking his head. "Fuck, you're so hot," he laughs. “It's actually annoying."

Chris nods. It’s not arrogance; he knows how he looks, it's the only reason he's in this line of work, but he knows that some people take one look at him and make assumptions. "Is that why you said no the first time they asked us to do a scene?"

Tom looks away, dropping his head a little to hang out of view. "Something like that. Why don't you come here and fuck me?"

He makes the perfect picture, back arched so that his pert arse sticks out, angled perfectly to be fucked, with knees spread just enough that the low lighting hints at the glistening hole hiding between his cheeks. Chris can’t wait to get his hands on him, and so he doesn’t.

He gets back across to the sofa with just four long steps, tearing a condom free and opening it with his teeth. Tom looks over his shoulder again to watch as he rolls it on, turning back just as Chris takes hold of his hips. With the slightest press at the small of his back Chris is able to get him to arch further.

“Hold on,” he mutters, distractedly dipping to the side to reach for the bottle of lube again. He slicks himself, holding the condom at the base, and swipes across Tom’s entrance again with more slick just to be sure. He trusts that Tom will tell him if it gets too much.

Lining himself up is a thrill in itself, the build up of weeks of planning -  not to mention years of fantasising - all coming down to this. Despite being worked open Tom's hole looks much too small to take the flared head of Chris' cock, and Chris grinds his teeth as he rubs himself along the crease of Tom's arse.

" _Ah_ -" Tom breathes, pressing back into it. "Do it, do it."

With one hand he reaches down to grip Tom's arse, using his thumb to spread him wider. He wants to see it, wants to watch every inch disappear inside of him. Ordinarily there'd be a camera over his shoulder sharing the view, but there's a selfish, possessive side of him relishing the fact that this is just for him.

Tom drops his head down to rest on the sofa, leather squeaking beneath his fingers as he grips it. Chris takes it slow, nudging himself against Tom's hole a few more times before finally putting some weight behind it and pushing in. It's not because he thinks Tom can't take it but because he wants to prolong it, enjoy it, and once the fat head of his cock finally pops through the tight ring of muscle he still holds back, squeezing the cheeks of Tom's arse together and pulling them apart.

"Enjoying yourself?" Tom grits out, turning his head just enough that Chris can see his jaw is tight and the tendons in his neck are visible with the tension. "Get on with it."

Chris tuts, rocking forward only the slightest bit. "So impatient."

Tom groans, the sound unmistakably born of frustration rather than pleasure, and Chris waits a beat before rearing back the tiniest bit, following immediately with a strong, precise push, bullying his cock through the hot squeeze of Tom's channel. He takes great pleasure in the guttural sound it wrenches from Tom's throat.

" _You fucking_ -" he says, cutting off short to catch his breath as Chris pulls out only to immediately give him another hard thrust.

Chris likes it, catching Tom by surprise, shutting him up, and when he next powers his hips forward it buries him to the hilt, surrounded completely by delicious warmth and pulsing muscle. Tom's body is tense, awaiting the next unpredictable thrust, but Chris takes a moment, stays where he is.

"Relax," he says like he's quieting a jumpy animal, running his palm up the middle of Tom's spine to rub half-heartedly at his shoulder blade. "Relax."

The hair at the nape of Tom's neck is beginning to form loose curls and he leans into it when Chris bends further over him to touch them. He's like a cat, arching his back beneath the pleasure of being petted and a crazy part of Chris wants to keep him forever.

Curling fingers over Tom's shoulders allows Chris to still him for the next deep stab, made easier still by the foot that Chris has planted on the sofa for leverage. It frees him up to fuck Tom exactly how he wants to; without pause, an unfaltering rhythm. It's good, and Tom is making all sorts of pleased sounds, but still he reaches back to push Chris away, shaking his head.

"I can't-" he huffs, shifting forwards slowly until Chris' cock slips free. "I think I'd be more comfortable if I..."

Instead of struggling to explain himself he just shifts so that he's lengthways on the sofa, arms tucked beneath himself and face pressed low to the leather. The arch of his back is deeper when he tilts his hips up and spreads his knees, like an offering, and Chris nearly groans.

"Yeah, this'll be better," he says, twisting on his knees to line up again. This time when he presses in Tom's more able to meet him, bearing back and opening with ease around him. "There we go."

Tom sighs, nodding, a moan slipping from his mouth as Chris draws back again. It doesn't take long to find the rhythm again, slower this time but still as steady, and hard enough to rock Tom forwards with each jab of Chris' hips.

The leather creaks beneath their knees as they move, the only sound breaking up their heavy breaths and choked off moans. Chris has never fucked anyone in his living room but he'd gladly fuck Tom on every available surface of it. He thinks about spreading him out on his back on the rug, looking into his smug blue eyes as he takes him hard and sure, wonders how easy it would be to encourage those long legs around his waist for a rough fuck against the wall.

He's not really aware that he's picked up speed until it filters through his haze how much quicker the chorus of moans and creaks and heavy breaths are, and by then he's too caught up in it to stop. Tom is growling out the word 'fuck' over and over again, holding so tightly to the red cushion beneath his chest that his knuckles have gone a stark white against it, and still Chris fucks into him; sharp stabs that have Tom's arse cheeks bouncing.

Tom cries out with every thrust, somewhere between pleasure and pain, and it's music to Chris' ears. His fingers are curved around Tom's hips so tightly they could be welded on and the thought that it might bruise only drives him to hold tighter.

Tom taps out again, two solid thumps on his wrist, and Chris gives just a couple more lighter thrusts before pulling out and sitting back on his heels. He's sweaty, struggling to suck in a decent breath, and he's not overly surprised when Tom throws him a frown over his shoulder.

"Fuck. Are you trying to make a point or something?" he says, though he doesn't sound too annoyed, crawling away and turning to flop down on his back at the other end of the sofa.

Chris watches with a smile he can't suppress, pretty pleased with himself, and only gives him a moment before moving as if to crawl over him again.

"Fuck, wait a minute," Tom gasps, shoving his foot against Chris' stomach to hold him away.

There's a sheen of sweat on him too, his chest rising and falling visibly as he catches his breath, and Chris can't swallow down the proud huff of laughter. In response, Tom presses his foot harder.

"Dickhead," he mutters, but there's a smile there.

Chris pulls the condom off so he can stroke himself, using his other hand to rub and massage at Tom's defined calf muscle. "Do you cycle?" he asks, digging his fingers in.

Tom lifts his head to raise a brow at him. "What?"

Chris shrugs. "Making small-talk."

He gets no response from Tom, who's dropped his head again and begun to push his damp curls back off his forehead. Chris can only imagine how good Tom looks to the camera, the length of his pale, toned body laid out for the viewers to look their fill. He slides his hand further up to stroke the sensitive skin beneath Tom's knee and gets a sound kick for his trouble.

Letting go of Tom's leg he leans back and reaches down, keeps his eyes on Tom as he begins to gently tug at his balls, still stroking with the other hand.

"Can I have some water?" Tom asks, glancing down to Chris' busy hands. "Or are you going to just play with yourself?"

Laughing, Chris shrugs again. "A minute ago I was playing with you."

When he stands he feels his damp skin stick to the leather and suddenly remembers why he's never fucked on the sofa before. He hisses, rubbing the back of his thighs, and Tom laughs.

"Go, slave," he says, smiling with his tongue poking out between his teeth.

Chris only grunts and does as he's told. Padding through into the kitchen he holds his cock, palms at it a bit, dipping to open the fridge. The rush of cool air when he opens the door is enough to stiffen his nipples and he grabs quickly for a bottle.

Heading back into the living room he's stopped in his tracks by the sight of Tom with one knee curled up and three of his own fingers working in and out of his hole.

"Seriously?" he says, holding the water out. "I was gone for thirty seconds."

Tom laughs, taking the bottle as Chris throws himself back into the sofa between his legs. When he slips his fingers free Chris gets a nice look at the pinkness of his empty hole before the muscle clenches tight again.

Glancing up at Tom's face, at the concentration with which he's opening his bottle and tipping his head back for a sip, Chris hesitates for only a second before diving down to nuzzle and nose at Tom's entrance. It's worth it just to see him splutter water down his chin.

"A little warning, maybe?" he says, wiping at his chin, but his complaints stop there as Chris parts his cheeks with two fingers and laves the flat of his tongue across his puckered hole.

"You just lie there..." Chris murmurs, tonguing him again, "and drink your water."

Surprisingly, Tom does, taking several big gulps as Chris licks and bites the cheeks of his arse. When Chris finally stiffens his tongue and nudges it inside though, Tom nearly crushes the water bottle in his fist.

"Oh fuck," he sighs, lifting his other knee up to join the first. Like that Chris is able to hold him open with both hands, practically face-down in his arse, tongue fucking him. Tom's enthusiasm for it is beyond a turn on, and Chris doesn't even mind when he hears the half-empty bottle fall to the floor.

Tom reaches around his knee to grip Chris' hair, tugging hard to keep him close and tipping his hips up to welcome the touch. They stay like that for long minutes, until Tom is a shuddering mess and Chris' chin is wet with his own spit and the heady scent of Tom's musk.

He's surprised when Tom pulls him up, mouthing indiscriminately at Chris' chin and jaw as if his own taste gets him off. Chris lets out a surprised breath just before Tom begins to bite at his mouth.

"Fuck me," he growls out against Chris' lips, wrapping his legs around Chris' waist and pulling him in.

Chris nods, fumbles around behind him for the condoms, but when he tries to turn his head to find them Tom grips his face between both hands and shakes his head.

"Forget it, fuck me bare. Fuck me now," he huffs, nodding. He's serious, doesn't break their eye contact for even a moment, and after only a tiny nod Chris lines up again.

He's worried that Tom isn't slick enough, that he's licked away all of the lube and his own spit won't ease the way enough, but Tom takes him like a champ.

It's better, so much better, to fuck Tom face to face, to see his expressions and feel strong legs at his hips urging him on. He does stop to spit into his palm, concerned that they're going to hurt each other, but once he's slicked himself a little more Tom just pulls him right back in.

He keeps biting at Chris' mouth, whining like a spoiled child when Chris takes his jaw in-hand and forces him to kiss instead.

"Play nice," he warns, letting his gaze bore into Tom's.

Without a doubt it's the most intense experience he's ever had with another porn star, and as he picks up his pace again he just hopes he can hang on until Tom comes. He wants to feel it around him, wants to see Tom's face as he pumps come all over his own stomach, wants to run his fingers through it and press them into Tom's mouth for him to suck until Chris is finished too.

He leans up just enough for Tom to take hold of his cock and begin to tug at it, keeping rhythm with Chris' thrusts as best he can.

"Oh shit, yes, come for me," Chris grunts, gripping Tom beneath the knees with both hands and holding them wide apart, using everything he's got to pound into him as hard and deep as he can. He knows Tom's nearly there when he begins to fist his cock at almost double speed, his hand almost a blur as he desperately works himself.

"Oh fuck," he growls between clenched teeth, the tendons of his neck protruding as he tries to lift his head and watch Chris' cock ramming his greedy hole. "Oh fuck, Chris, oh fu-"

His words fall apart, becoming nothing but garbled grunts as every inch of him tenses up; toes curling and stomach tightening in pulses that match the sweet clenching of his hole around Chris' still-pounding cock.

His lips are wet and parted, his eyes pinched closed, and he looks so exquisite that Chris has a moment of horrible panic, overwhelmed with fear that he's about to do something stupid like fall in love.

As if reading his thoughts, Tom blinks his eyes open. Chris feels himself blush hot all over and realised that he's stilled his hips and now they're just looking at each other. Silence hangs between them, Chris' eyes track the journey of a bead of sweat along Tom's cheekbone, and then Tom slips a hand slowly up Chris' damp chest to curl around his neck.

"C'mere," he murmurs quietly, slurring in his post-orgasmic haze, and Chris goes without argument as he's pulled down again.

Tom kisses him, softly now, sliding his other hand around Chris' waist and using it to encourage him to move again. He lifts his knees around Chris' waist even though they're still shaking. It's weird, intimate, perfect, and Chris can barely even manage to kiss him back. It's more like he's breathing every desperate breath into Tom's mouth.

Tom laughs a little, not malicious, and turns his head to suck and nip at Chris' jaw. It's his weak spot, and it's almost like Tom knows. When he latches on and begins to suck hard on the sensitive skin, Chris feels the familiar tight heat pooling at his groin. He ups his pace, just enough, and then he's coming inside Tom.

He's shaking even afterwards, the intensity of it unexpected, and it's a pleasant surprise when Tom wraps his arms around him. Chris suspects he's too heavy and yet he lets his weight drops fully into Tom anyway, just until he catches his breath.

They're so damp with perspiration that their chests stick together when Chris pulls away, grunting as he holds himself above Tom by his arms. Tom smiles at him, laughs a little, and Chris feels so out of sorts that he pulls away faster than he probably should. Awkwardly he moves to sit across the other side of the sofa, facing Tom.

"What's this?" Tom laughs, prodding him with a foot. "You can't fuck me and then move three feet away."

Chris isn't sure what to say, isn't sure how to proceed, and for the first time in ages he remember there's a camera across the room.

Just as he thinks about getting up to turn it off, Tom sits himself up and gets his knees under him, crawling up Chris' body to whap him on the chest with the back of his hand. Then he shuffles around, turning to settle between Chris' legs with his back to Chris' chest. His hair is wet when he drops his head back into Chris' shoulder, but Chris doesn't mind.

Less confident than he'd like to be, he slips one arm around Tom's waist.

"We should do this again some time," he murmurs into Tom's hair, enjoying the way Tom's stomach tightens beneath his fingers.

Tom hums, sounding sleepy. "Alright, but next time I'm fucking you."

-

Chris falls into a hazy half-sleep, enjoying the feel of Tom pliant against him. He’s not sure how they ended up here, from Tom standing like a stranger in his kitchen to this, but he’s beyond pleased with it. The camera across the room is still recording them but he doesn’t care; he has every intention of recording over everything after their orgasms.

He wonders if Tom might stay the night, if they’d stay on the sofa or if Tom would concede to sharing Chris’ bed. All kinds of scenarios fill his head, but too soon he feels Tom shifting, sitting up.

"Oh fuck, I spilled the water," he says. It seems like an excuse to pull away but Chris lets him, hoping Tom's walls won't come up again completely now that the buzz of their orgasms is wearing off.

"It's okay," he says, eyes following Tom as he stands and picks up the mostly empty bottle, toeing with concern at the damp patch on the rug. "It's just water."

Tom isn't shy about his body at all, standing in the middle of the room and making no attempt to cover himself. Chris lets himself look, hopeful but not certain that he'll get the chance again.

"Bathroom?" Tom asks after a moment, and Chris shows him the way.

They splash their faces with cold water, shifting around each other with ease, comfortable in their mutual nakedness. When Chris hands over a wet washcloth Tom uses it to wipe away the come from his stomach and groin, and then wets it again before reaching down behind himself.

“You could use the shower,” Chris says, gesturing to his walk-in.

Tom shakes his head, smiling a little. “I should probably go.”

It’s only just after eight, though it feels later, and once they’ve dressed again in the living room Chris watches Tom send off a quick text and tries not to wonder about the recipient.

In the kitchen, a safer territory than the room they just fucked in, they drink another glass of wine, mostly for something to do with their hands. Not ten minutes later Tom’s phone lights up with a message.

“My lift’s here,” he says, draining the red liquid from the bottom of his glass.

Chris wants to kiss him again, taste the wine on his tongue one more time, but by the time he’s worked up the nerve Tom is already past him and heading for the door.

There’s a car at the bottom of the path and the driver's face is lit up by the glare of his phone.

"You know Ethan, don't you?" Tom says, looking out, and when Chris looks again at the sharp nose and fluffy hair pulled down beneath a beanie hat, he recognises him from the site.

"Oh," he says, unable to mask his surprise. "Yeah, we shot a threesome a few months ago. He played Candy Crush while the assistant lubed him up."

Tom's laugh is filled with such fondness that Chris starts to wonder.

"That bloody game! He's addicted. He's doing it now, look." With both of them staring at him it takes only a few moments for Ethan to lift his head, waving out at them both before looking back down.

Most of the regulars on the site have worked with both Chris and Tom, it's not unusual, and though Chris had known that Tom and Ethan starred together in several shoots he hadn't thought anything of it.

"Are you...?" he waves a hand between Tom and the car.

He's both relieved and embarrassed when Tom laughs likes he's made a particularly funny joke.

"I'm not fucking Ethan. Not off camera, anyway. He's..." he lets his laugh taper off and clears his throat. "He's lovely, just not really my type."

It seems so improbable that Chris isn't sure what to say. The majority of Tom's videos feature costars exactly like Ethan; slight guys who whimper nicely for his cock and tip their faces up to take his come.

Tom seems to know what he's thinking.

"I tend to actively avoid my type when it comes to porn," he clarifies quietly, and when he lifts his eyes to Chris' again there's a weight in the gaze. "Always seemed a bit...hazardous."

For a long moment they just stare at each other. Chris thinks back to the one time they'd met before, how Tom wouldn't even meet his gaze, and suddenly it doesn't seem like arrogance at all.

Wisps of white breath carry Tom’s light laugh away in the cold air. “Well,” he shrugs a shoulder, tugging his jacket tighter around himself. “Better be off.”

It’s a horrible impulse that has Chris pulling Tom forwards again by his lapel, presumptuous, and yet Tom allows it. He doesn’t even seem all that surprised. It's just a press of lips, a statement of intent more than anything.

Tom shakes his head even though he's smiling. "I knew you were bad news."

Chris smiles back, crossing his arms against the cold as Tom begins to back away. "We'll see."

-

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Shine on (you little star)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549716) by [AmandaHuffleduck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaHuffleduck/pseuds/AmandaHuffleduck)




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